


Maybe for You I Would

by 1think1haveaproblem



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Eliot gets his life together imagine that, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Help, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1think1haveaproblem/pseuds/1think1haveaproblem
Summary: Magic doesn't magically give life meaning. Quentin tries to stay intoxicated enough to numb the pain. Eliot has decided he can no longer sit idly by.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting fanfiction so I know it's probably not great. I wrote this a few years ago when the fandom was just starting out and the show only had one season, but I had never felt like it was finished enough to post.
> 
> Update: I've decided to add more to the story, hopefully you like it.

Quentin spent most of his time sulking. This wasn’t of any particular interest to the other students, but the physical kids noticed. Sure, there would be time when he would dive into learning a new facet of magic, and his eyes would temporarily regain their mystical sparkle. But it never lasted. Melancholy would always find Quentin, no matter where he hid.

The students at Brakebills simply didn’t care about those outside of their clique, so when the light drained from Quentin’s eyes and he took on a zombie-like presence in their classes, life went on. As for those within his clique, they didn’t display so much sympathy as commiseration. They didn’t stay up and talk, ask him what was wrong; instead, they poured more whiskey into his glass and gave a painful, knowing smile. It never helped, but you can’t expect someone to rescue someone else when they, themselves, are failing to keep their own head above water.

But some were stronger than others, or maybe just didn’t buy into the idea of needing to be whole to help, and Eliot resolved to do _something_. Offaly rich coming from the one who hasn’t been sober since the day he left Indiana, Eliot bitterly thought to himself, but he couldn’t stand to see Quentin in as much pain as he was.

Eliot pushed open the cottage door and saw a dead look in Quentin’s eyes as Margo gleefully topped off his wine glass. A smile laced her lips, but Eliot knew what pain lay behind her carefully constructed facade. Eliot crossed the room in swift, long steps. When he reached Quentin, he grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him off the couch. Eliot dragged him away from the others and out on the patio, kicking the door shut with his foot behind him. Quentin probably would have been angered but the abrupt outburst on Eliot’s part, but he had too many glasses of wine tonight to be anything other than compliant.

Eliot reached for Quentin’s wine glass and dumped its contents on a nearby rose bush.

“What a shame, that was good wine,” Eliot loftily said as he sniffed the empty wine glass, momentarily being distracted from the current circumstance.

“I’m sorry?” Quentin responded, confused as the situation at large.

“What? Oh.” Eliot waved his hand, dismissing his last comment and returning his attention to Quentin. “Come. Sit.” Eliot commanded, pulling Quentin over to the two patio chairs.

Quentin began to stutter protests but did as he was told.

“What the Hell, Eliot,” Quentin finally managed to get out.

Eliot leaned forward from the chair he sat in, positioned directly in front of Quentin. “You need to talk,” he said with a level of severity his existence had been missing for quite some time.

“Excuse me?” Quentin’s voice was traced with either anger or annoyance, Eliot wasn’t entirely sure which.

“If there’s anything I’ve shown you in the past year, it’s that wine is not a successful coping mechanism. Quentin, I can’t just sit around and watch you die.”

A flash of anger crossed Quentin’s eyes, presumably at the hypocrisy of Eliot lecturing him on drinking. Eliot's breath hitched as he anticipated the outburst he was sure would follow. But it didn’t. Eliot saw Quentin’s shoulders relax and tears form in his eyes.

“Why isn’t it enough?” Quentin quietly asked.

“Everyone wants to think magic adds this big grandiose Purpose to life, but it doesn’t- it can’t. If anything, it takes so much away,” Eliot tried to explain. “But Quentin,” he continued, laying a hand on the younger man’s knee, “there are things that still matter. People, dreams, aspirations.”

“What if I can’t find those dreams or aspirations?”

“Then you find those people.”

“Or they find you,” Quentin added meeting Eliot’s eyes..

A few moments passed before Eliot realized the situation was growing awkward. He removed his hand from Quentin’s leg and stood as a light blush rose on his cheeks. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go back inside,” Eliot hesitantly said.

“Then let’s not,” Quentin replied definitively.

 

It was an odd experience for Eliot, being the sober one with the intoxicated friend. As the night had drawn on, Eliot wondered just how much Quentin had to drink before he made it to the cottage. It’s not that Quentin was slurred or reckless, but he seemed to get distracted by his own drunkenness. He would forget the conversation he was having midway through, instead needing to turn all of his attention to walking. Eliot tried to pick up their conversation a few times, but ultimately gave up the endeavor, and let the two of them fall into companionable silence. Eliot could see Quentin grow tired from their walk through the maze, and he guided him back to the cottage.

Margo and the others were off playing pool and didn’t even hear their return. Quentin and Eliot ascended the stairs, the latter making sure the former made it to his bed rather than passing out somewhere along the way. Once satisfied at Quentin's location, Eliot headed downstairs to the kitchen. A minute later he returned to Quentin’s room with a glass of water that he set on the nightstand.

“Eliot?” Quentin murmured, with his face buried in his pillow.

“Yes?” Eliot replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you.”

Eliot wasn’t sure how much of this Quentin would even remember come morning, but he brushed some of Quentin’s hair away from his face, dragging his hand down Quentin’s shoulder and back, and whispered, “Goodnight, Q.”

Eliot rose from his position on the bed and softly crossed Quentin’s casually messy room to retrieve a bottle of aspirin from the bathroom. He set this next to the glass on the nightstand. He peered down at Quentin. His breathing was already slowing as sleep took him. Eliot couldn’t help but think about how calm and worry-free he looked. Eliot suppressed the hopeful feeling that things would be better in the morning.

  


Eliot was scrambling eggs when Quentin descended the stairs.

“You’re up,” Eliot smiled.

“Yeah, but seriously confused.” Quentin rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Maybe you could help fill some things in.”

“Anything for you,” Eliot replied with his normal level of theatrics.

“I seem to remember being outside in the maze, which couldn’t have been a good idea, considering how much I had to drink. You were there, but the part that’s throwing me is that we managed to get _out_. Not only that, but the water and aspirin…” he trailed off.

Eliot paused, wanting to see what conclusion Quentin was trying to get at. He raised an eyebrow and Quentin’s own bunched up as he worked through his confusion.

“You were sober?” he finally finished.

“Yeah, occasionally it happens,” Eliot tried to sound casual, like Quentin hadn’t just come to the appropriate conclusion that his own well being was what cause Eliot to make the first positive decision in the past several months.

Quentin, however, wasn’t buying it. “No, Eliot, there has to be more to this. What aren’t I remembering?”

Eliot wanted to tell him everything, right then and there. The words were so close to rolling off of his tongue.

Instead, Eliot plated the eggs he was preparing and set them in front of Quentin. “Eat first, there’s a lot to talk about.”

Quentin gave a skeptical glare, stabbed some eggs onto his fork, and began to raise it to his mouth. Halfway through the motion he changed his mind and lowered the fork again.

“No, I’m calling bullshit, El. You start now. I think I’m owed that much.”

Eliot felt a knot twist in his gut. He exhaled slowly and took a seat on the bar stool next to Quentin. “Where do you want me to start, Q?”

“You weren’t drinking yesterday?”

“Correct,” Eliot confirmed.

“When was the last time that happened?”

Eliot let out a guilty sigh, “Second week of the semester?”

Quentin nodded, forming his next question.

“When did you first see me last night?” he asked. Eliot was grateful he decided to first focus on forming a timeline of events rather than pushing for further explanations regarding Eliot’s motives.

“After class, I studied in the library. When I finished there I came back to the cottage where you were.”

“No one ever studies in the library.”

True. “I had cause to…”

Quentin sighed, pressing his hands to his temple, his hungover mind trying to remember anything from the night before.

“So when you got back…?” Quentin prompted.

“You were already pretty drunk…” Eliot trailed off.

“Not much of a surprise there,” Quentin scoffed. Eliot’s brow furrowed with worry.

“And that’s what I wanted to get at last night. Quentin, I can’t watch you drink yourself to death. I know you wanted magic to be the panacea for all your problems, but it’s not. We all want it to add Purpose, but it can’t. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t purpose. That doesn’t mean you don’t have people who care about you, people who are willing to do anything for you. Q, I don’t want to lose you,”- _I can’t lose you-_ “things have to change, starting today.” Eliot peered at Quentin, desperate for him to understand.

Quentin slowly nodded, internalizing everything Eliot just said.

After a moment Eliot reached out and grasped Quentin’s hand. “You’re not alone, Quentin. We can get through this, together.”

“Okay; I trust you, El.”

Neither one quite knew exactly what they were resolving to overcome, the alcoholism, depression, or the tragedy of life itself; but the sincerity in Quentin’s eyes affirmed Eliot’s conviction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was shorter than I would want it to be, but I'm just not that great of a writer. If anyone out there would be interested in an attempt at writing more of the story, leave a comment and I will try :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the kind feedback, I've managed to add more to this story. There will be at least one more chapter coming.

The week had drawn on dreadfully slow, one of the unfortunate consequences of being sober. Eliot wasn’t initially sure how to pass the extra time he had in a way that would keep his own melancholy at bay. It didn’t take long, however, for him to fall into the routine of meeting up with Quentin after his classes finished and studying in the library for most of the evening. New spells, while not a sustainable solution, always helped lighten their moods. They enjoyed each other's company though, which probably made more of a difference than anything else, in Eliot’s opinion. 

Quentin’s last class ended soon, so Eliot was getting ready to depart from the cottage. He was in the process of slewing a messenger bag over his shoulder and descending the stairs when Margo caught sight of him. 

“There you are! Eliot, come over here and help get ready for the party,” she instructed as she organized some glasses near the bar.

“Sorry Bambi, I’m heading to the library,” he replied as he kept his gaze fixed on the door and hurried towards it.

In an instant, Margo had crossed the sitting area and had interceded Eliot’s path, looking rather cross. “Rather rude of you to ditch out on all the prep work, El.”

“Yes, well, I’ll have to ask for your forgiveness then.”

“Not forgiven. Why are you trying to scurry away, you love getting ready to host?” Margo pouted.

“I have plans to meet with our dear Q, so if you’ll excuse me,” he reasoned, trying to maneuver passed Margo.

“What time will you get back?”

“I don’t know-”

“You will be here for the party?”

“I might actually-”

“We’d be lost without our bartender, Eliot.”

“There are other people who can mix drinks-”

“Not like you. Since when have you been one to avoid a party, anyway?”

And there was the question Eliot had been hoping to avoid. Margo’s intense gaze bore into him for a moment before he sighed, his whole body slumping as the tension left him. “I don’t want to pick a fight with you, Bambi. It’s one party; it’s not like I’m defecting to another discernment.”

Margo eyed him for what felt like an eternity before she began to shift out of his way. “Something’s up with you, and I will find out what. Don’t think you can keep things from me, El. Just because I’m letting you go doesn’t mean you are off the hook.” She gave the man another pointed glare to emphasize her point as she headed back over to the bar. Eliot breathed a sigh of relief, said his farewell, and promptly left the cottage before Margo had a chance to change her mind.

 

Quentin and Eliot settled into their normal routine of spending a solid hour studying before they let their conversation wonder elsewhere. Quentin was putting his textbooks into his bag and when you looked up he noticed Eliot staring at him. Quentin turned to look over his shoulder, seeming to make sure that he was indeed the focus of Eliot’s attention. “What is it, El?” Quentin sing-songed a bit nervously as he got to his feet and pushed the chair in.

“Well, I was just thinking,” Eliot drawled as he leaned his hip against the table, “that it might not be a good idea to head back to the cottage right away.” Quentin eyed Eliot skeptically as he traversed around to Eliot’s side of the library table. “Well, it’s just that there is a party at the cottage tonight,” Eliot explained, “and I’m not sure if that is the best place for you to be. For either of us to be.

“Then where do you suggest we go?” Quentin asked, looking up at Eliot from where he settled in beside him.

Quentin was oh-so-close, and looking at Eliot in a way that made him want to be oh-so-bold. “Anywhere, as long as it’s alone with you.”

 

The two boys ended up laying in the open space in the center of the maze. They had been somewhat giddy as Eliot had taken Quentin hand and lead him into the maze, but a peaceful lull had fallen over them once they settled in.

“Why did you decide to try and save me?” Quentin asked.

Neatly manicured grass brushed against Eliot’s head as he shifted to get a better view of Quentin. Quentin still looked up at the evening sky, his head resting against his bag, his legs crossed at the ankles. 

“You’re worth saving, Q,” Eliot responded.

A smile played at the edges of Quentin’s lips, and Eliot’s gut twisted in response. “Even if that is the case, why now?” Quentin final turned his head and meet Eliot’s eyes, awaiting his response.

Eliot paused a beat before answering. “I don’t think I know exactly why it happened to be that moment that I acted. All I know is that I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting idly by for one more day, or letting any more light drain from your eyes. I’ve lost enough people; I don’t want to lose you too.” Eliot broke eye contact with Quentin and looked up at the sky. “I know it’s not much coming from me, but you have to start somewhere I guess.”

He felt Quentin reach out and take his hand. “I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but thank you, El.” 

Eliot paused to see if Quentin was going to add anything else, he didn’t, and Eliot didn’t have the right words to add either, instead settling for softly running his thumb along Quentin’s hand. It was a while before either of them said anything more, and longer still before they decided to head back to the cottage for the night.

 

The two of them had managed to stay away for a fair portion of the night. Magical light sources danced against the starry sky as they approached the cottage. The music, though was surely at one point loud and boisterous, now seemed dull and distant as they stood outside the cottage doors. Hesitantly, Eliot opened the door and they went inside. 

The main room was poorly lit. Several students were still dancing and sloshing brightly colored mixed drinks, but the party was nearing its end. Most people who were still around were passed out on vaguely horizontal surfaces. Quentin and Eliot made their way around their unconscious classmates and ascended the stairs. 

They walked side by side down the halls until they reached the point where they would need to go their separate ways. Both men paused. Eliot glanced down at his shoes and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When he looked back up at Quentin, there was a sincerity in his eyes. It was so unlike the glassy drunkenness that would typically bestow them if Quentin were still conscious this late on a normal night. The contrast made Eliot’s breath hitch. He wanted so desperately to reach out and pull Quentin close, to not need to turn and walk down the hallway to his room alone, to climb into his own bed without him there too, to fall asleep without the other man in his arms, feeling his breath against his chest. 

But he also didn’t want to mess this up. In a stunning act of self-restraint, Eliot simply reached out and brushed a lock of Quentin’s hair from his face, and whispered goodnight. He contemplated if he was a fool as he walked away to his own room. His mind was racing as he lay down to sleep, but his overall exhaustion won, and he was out nearly the moment his head hit the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t avoid me forever, El.” Margo’s flat statement stopped him in his tracks, mere feet from the cottage door he was attempting to flee out of.

“Now, I wouldn’t use such hurtful words as to insinuate I’m  _ avoiding  _ you,” Eliot tried to retort, spinning on his heels to face Margo.

“Really. You have a better explanation of what’s happening then?” Her tone sounded a mix between bored and offended, which Eliot knew the correct interpretation of was furious. He kept his composure though. He had thought through what he would say when finally confronted what felt like a million times over the past few weeks.

“Prioritizing Quentin does not equate to avoiding you, Bambi. You know I love you, it’s not as if you need constant reminders and attention.”

Margo’s expression eased at Eliot’s explanation, and when she spoke her tone was much more playful. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, El. You’ve been away so long you must have forgotten that I do need constant attention. From everyone. Particularly you.” She batted her eyes to accentuate her point. “So tell me why our dear Q has warranted so much more of your love and affection than me?”

“Margo, honey, you are well aware that I’m a raging homosexual,” Eliot tried, light and playful.

This isn’t news, but Margo’s jaw nearly hit the floor nonetheless. “Wait, Eliot, when did you start fucking Quentin? I didn’t even think he realized he wasn’t straight yet?”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Eliot chastised, taking Margo’s arm and dragging her over to the couch. “There are enough rumors as is, and I don’t want to scare the poor thing away.”

“So you’re not actually having sex with Quentin?”

“No-”

“But you want to be.”

“I’m not trying to make him my next first year plaything if that’s what you are insinuating,” Eliot replied flatly, though he’s nervous with how close to real emotions this conversation was getting.

“So you want an actual relationship with the boy? You love him?” She looked at Eliot like she wanted to be contradicted, but wouldn’t tolerate anything short of the truth. Eliot debated straight up fleeing. His legs are a lot longer than Margo’s, he could almost certainly get away.

“Quit being so cruel to me. I don’t know what I want… But I know Quentin and his happiness are important to me.” Seconds ticked by as Margo seemed to debate how much more she wanted to press. Eliot really was a mess. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his palms felt sweaty and his stomach was in knots. He didn’t want to think about how deeply he cared for Quentin. And he certainly didn’t want other people knowing about his feelings before Quentin did, even if that person was Margo.

After another few moments of deliberation, Margo’s expression softened. In a low voice, she addressed Eliot, “Do you think Quentin has even realized he’s not straight yet?”

Eliot let out a shaky sigh, “Giving my best guess I’d say yes, but that boy is full of surprises.”

“You sure have your work cut out for you,” she teased as she got up, finally letting Eliot off the hook. “Good luck in your pursuit - just don’t forget the rest of us exist.” She paused for a beat. “Actually, just don’t ignore me. I don’t actually care how you treat the rest of the losers around here.” And just like that, Margo was back to her loveable, bitchy self.

Eliot laughed as she sauntered out of the room, feeling slightly better about the situation he seemed to have found himself in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is such a short chapter, but it's also been a really long time since I've posted so I thought something would be better than nothing... I have two more chapters somewhat planned out, so hopefully you'll get more soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Eliot was in the middle of preparing an elaborate breakfast when Quentin wandered into the kitchen and had a seat at the bar. It was half-past ten, but Eliot often got a later start on Sundays. 

“How would you like your eggs?” Eliot asked as he diced vegetables for his omelet.

“Scrambled is fine,” came Quentin’s groggy reply.

“Simpleton,” Eliot muttered mostly to himself, but loud enough that Quentin could take offense if he had so desired. Eliot looked over his shoulder and saw Quentin shaking his head with an amused smile playing at his lips. Eliot can’t help but revel in how  _ good _ it was to see Quentin smile.

Before too much longer they were both seated at the table with their breakfasts. “So what are your plans for today?” Eliot asked, filling the silence.

“I kind of figured I’d just go along with whatever you were up to,” came Quentin’s nonchalant reply. Eliot found it rather pleasing that Quentin’s plans were to just be with Eliot, but his spirits dropped when he remembered what he actually was going to be doing that day.

“I’ll be spending the morning-well, probably most of the afternoon too, seeing the time- working on a project for alchemy.”

“You’ve been studying for that class all week, haven’t you?” Quentin asked.

“Yeah, Professor Kroll doesn’t seem to understand the concept of other classes existing. You think someone would have pointed it out to her by now. If you have the choice, Q, don’t take Alchemy II with her.”

“Duly noted. Will you be in the lab space then, instead of the library?”

“Yeah, Ms. Jankens gets a bit pissy if you blow something up with an experiment that went a little sideways in her “quiet study space”. Completely justified and entirely annoying if you ask me.”  

Quentin let out a laugh.

“You can come along with me if you want,” Eliot continued. “I can show you what we’re doing, you’ll need to know it next year. Can’t say I’ll be too chatty apart from going through the project, though. I really do need to get this done.”

Despite the rather uninteresting offer, Quentin seemed pleased. “Sounds good to me. I’ll bring a few reference books for my botany essay along to work on when you’re too busy to explain.”

 

Eliot appreciated how easily the two of them could work together, or simply in the same vicinity. Eliot had shown Quentin the project which was to research and demonstrated a ritual where switching the metal used would result in not only a failed outcome but the complete opposite effect. 

The guidelines were left intentionally vague to screw with you, Eliot had explained. Such reversals aren’t common or well documented, and there’s no easy place to start when you don’t have any parameters on what metals you should be working with. The only way to bypass about 80 hours of reading through rituals is to bribe an upperclassman to give you a ritual you can start with, then it’s on you to find out what metal to use instead and why. 

Eliot knew an upperclassman who owed him a few favors and cashed in on one to be told that a specific sleep deprivation cure could be altered to make you more tired, and that was the project he was working on. Other ones he heard his classmates discussing included harmful curses to healing charms, but he’d prefer not to deal with anything that dangerous in class if he could avoid it. The most direct use of metal in the ritual Eliot was working with is in the preparation of the ingredients, where the recipe calls specifically for a gold knife to be used. Eliot had spent most of the past week looking into the different ingredients and trying to reason out what metal could cause a reversal of the outcome, and with a few top contenders and fair certainty that nothing he was going to make would explode, it was time to start testing substitutions.

Occasionally as he worked, Quentin would ask why Eliot choose the specific substitution that he was testing, and Eliot quoted whatever reference he had come across that indicated the possibility of the outcome he was aiming for. It wasn’t until Eliot had finished his third metal choice, nickel (after copper and iron), that his test showed he might have been successful. By this point it was already past four o’clock, so he would take his final product to the healers tomorrow to find out if his efforts had been in vain or not. Right now Eliot wanted to spend time with Quentin in a non-academic setting.

  
  


After dropping their coursework off at the cottage and having something to eat, the two walked with nowhere in particular in mind and ended up down by the lake. The sky was beginning to turn shades of light orange and red which reflected across the water. It wasn’t exactly fall for the rest of the world, but it felt like it at Brakebills. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, and caused Eliot and Quentin to shift closer to each other where they sat near the shore. As the evening continued on, their conversations on school, friends, and life died down, and they fell into companionable silence, enjoying everything the scene had to offer. 

After what could have been an eternity for all he knew, Eliot broke the quietness.

“What is it that you want, Quentin?”

It took Quentin a long while before he replied, brows furrowed with concentration as he sorted through the sudden question. When he finally did speak, it was low and steady. “I want to not be crazy. I want to feel that life is worth living. I want the person I’m in love with to actually love me back. And for the first time ever, I think that might all be possible.”

“Well, for starters, you’re not crazy-”

“I know. Or at least all if this still feels real. I haven’t had any mental breakdowns since having my mind fucked over by Julia, if that’s anything to go by.”

“I should have killed that headgebitch-”

“I’m glad you didn’t. It’s easier on me if you don’t go around committing homicides. Probably easier on you too.”

Eliot let out a small laugh. “I suppose you’re probably right… I guess that brings us to the next point, which is that your life is most certainly worth living. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I really have been trying to show you that there are people who want you around, Quentin. People who would give anything to make you see that.” 

“I really do want to thank you, Eliot. You’ve reminded me that there is hope, and that people do care about me.”

Eliot let out a shaky breath and blinked back tears. “And lastly, correctly if I’m reading this wrong, but…” Eliot trailed off as he leaned in closer, and gently pressed his lips against Quentin’s. His eyes fluttered shut and Eliot smiled as he broke the kiss. He could feel his pulse as it pounded through his veins, and his stomach flip-flopped with excitement and nerves. “You’re worth loving, Quentin, and anyone who can’t see that is a damned fool.”

Quentin rested his forehead against Eliot’s and let out something between a laugh and a sob. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You deserve the moon and more, but somehow you ended up with me. But as faulty as I may be, I’m willing to give this everything I’ve got.”

Quentin didn’t have the words to try and express everything that was running through his mind, but he caught Eliot’s lips in his own poured all of his feelings into that kiss. It was needy, passionate and desperate in all the perfect ways, and Eliot knew all that he needed to. 

When the sun finally set, it was too cold to comfortably stay by the lake and the two of them headed back to the cottage. They ended up in Eliot’s room where they spent half the night talking, but when they were both ready to turn out the lights Quentin departed for his own room. Eliot knew there would be plenty of time in the coming weeks to explore their relationship further, and to show Quentin just how deeply he loved him. They had a long road ahead of them, but the future looked immensely brighter than either of them could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be a short epilogue so stay tuned if you're interested :)


	5. Epilogue

Eliot peered at the shadows the early morning light cast throughout his room. A heavy arm was slung across his bare chest keeping him from getting up. There was a time when he would have to rack his hungover brain to try and grasp some semblance of a name to attach to the man lying in his bed, but those days were long gone. His head didn’t pound from alcohol withdrawal, and he knew full well that Quentin was the only person he would be waking up with.

Sheets rustled as Quentin began to come to. Eliot fondly brushed some hair away from Quentin’s face and leaned forward to kiss his lips. It was soft and sweet and left Eliot with a deep feeling of content. 

“Morning,” Eliot whispered when they broke the kiss.

“Morning,” Quentin returned with a lazy smile.

“How’d you sleep?” Eliot ran his hand along Quentin’s arm as he admired him in the morning light.

“Better than when I’m alone,” Quentin replied, his tone light. 

“Yeah?” Eliot couldn’t keep the obvious enjoyment out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed, shifting a little closer. 

“And why might that be?” Eliot asked with a devious look in his eyes.

“Just like being with you. ‘S nice to have you close when I drift off. Comforting.”

Quite pleased with Quentin’s explanation, Eliot closed the little distance between them and kissed Quentin again. Instead of soft and lazy, this was more awake and passionate.

“Do we really have to get up today?” Eliot asked when they finally did part.

Quentin was apparently in an indulging mood as he replied, “I for one have no intention of leaving this bed for the foreseeable future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I want to thank everyone who stuck with this, and those who left comments/kudos! It really means a lot to me to see that people liked what I put out there. 
> 
> This was the first fanfiction that I ever posted and the first fanfiction that I've ever finished writing. I know it could have been better, but I think it has some good moments and I'll be working to improve my writing as time goes on. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all for your time! (^_^)


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